


beneath us constellations

by Silvereye



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M, Marriage of Convenience, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:33:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27196540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silvereye/pseuds/Silvereye
Summary: “–so I’m guessing I will either have to have a child, which is difficult, all things considered, or get married, which is not much easier.”Nicky and Joe get married for the sole purpose of getting a student allowance. It gets a little more complicated after that.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 6
Kudos: 60
Collections: Fic In A Box





	beneath us constellations

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Pameluke](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pameluke/gifts).



> Dear Pameluke - so I saw "marriage/relationship of convenience, turned REAL" in your likes and went "wait, I know just the scenario" in two seconds.
> 
> I've never been to a North American university, so the university life in this fic is based mostly on my small European country and lightly fictionalized. No actual students, student societies or universities were harmed in the making of this fic.
> 
> Thanks to my beta who lovingly roasts me for insufficient clarity and quotes me back all the places where I have handled coffee Correctly. <>
> 
> Content notes: subdued angst; discussed (but not graphic) past bullying and past homophobia.

“–so I’m guessing I will either have to have a child, which is difficult, all things considered, or get married, which is not much easier.”

“Who’s having a child?” Nicky called, letting himself into Andy’s garret apartment. He was fifteen minutes late, as per usual, but in his defense the train station was across the town from Andy’s place. The fact that he had not taken a bus even though he could have _definitely_ had nothing to do with his lateness.

“No one,” Booker called back from the living room. “Having kids before you’re out is madness, so don’t do it.”

“Well, it’s not like our glorious Minister of Education is leaving me much of a choice!” the first speaker retorted. Right, he was Joe. Nicky had met him at Andy’s Midsummer party, but didn’t know him too well, since Andy’s Midsummer parties were always large and loud. Not exactly the kind of place he felt at ease in.

“What did he do now?” Nicky asked, entering Andy’s living room. “Also, I brought baklava.”

“Perfect,” Andy said, lounging on the makeshift sofa under the window. “I hereby declare a break from politics, because baklava.”

Booker chuckled and got up from his place near the bedroom door. “Never fails. I’ll make tea.”

Andy sat up. “All the chairs are taken, so come here. You get half of the sofa.”

“This is a stratagem,” Nicky remarked. She wasn’t wrong about the chairs, exactly. Andy didn’t believe in buying furniture when she could save for plane tickets to go see her postdoc girlfriend across the continent, which meant she only really had the so-called sofa, a sad little pile of sitting pillows (already claimed by Booker) and a low stool someone had foisted on her (claimed by Joe).

“I multitask,” Andy said. “Do share.”

She sighed with appreciation after the first bite. Nicky’s eyes met Joe’s and they both smiled – there was something helplessly uplifting about the fact that one of the smartest people in the town could be made so happy by a piece of pastry.

It was easier to see Joe in full daylight. He was about Nicky’s own age – early twenties – and terrifyingly handsome. He had a nice smile, and his eyes almost sparkled, and there might have been a hint of early laugh lines around them. Nicky looked away reflexively – _can’t afford to look this long_ – then remembered that these days he actually could afford it. It was probably too late, though.

Booker saved him from awkwardness by returning with the teapot and all four mugs Andy did own. Nicky accepted his tea and pretended to be occupied with it. It wasn’t hard. Booker had worked in a tea shop for a few years, which meant he had definite Opinions about it. Nicky wasn’t half as educated in that area, but he could appreciate a good brew.

“So what did our glorious Minister do?” Nicky repeated once baklava had been properly worshipped.

“The upcoming law says that the student allowances are paid out according to the average income of the household. All fine and good. _And_ no matter where you live, you belong into your parents’ household up to the age of twenty-six.”

“Twenty- _six_?” Nicky repeated.

“By twenty-six I already had my PhD,” Andy mused.

“Overachiever,” Booker said fondly. “I think I had been exmatriculated twice by twenty-six.”

“Well, yes,” Joe said. “That’s why it’s utterly brainless. My parents live in the Archipelago, so I stay with them maybe two weeks every year, and the rents in the capital are what they are, so I am in fact the kind of starving student who could use the allowance. But no, better that my parents support me and not my younger siblings’ music school.”

“So what was that about having a child?” Nicky asked.

“Students under twenty-six get to belong into a separate household if they’re married or raising a child. As you heard, I have been strongly advised to not have a child for the sole purpose of qualifying for the allowance.” He looked into the middle distance. “I _could_ marry...”

“I can already see the advert in the newspaper,” Andy said dryly. “Twenty-whatever you were exactly, male, looking for fellow students in the capital. Must be ready to marry. No, this is definitely not for semi-illegal student allowance purposes.”

“The height of subtlety,” Booker agreed.

“Alright, you marry me,” Joe said. “We all know Andy is long-distance pining for Quynh, but you’re not taken.”

Booker laughed and leaned back. “One,” he said with great amusement, “I do not think you tried at all. Two, I’m considerably past thirty and you’re not. The official would give me the evil eye throughout the ceremony and my fragile psyche cannot take it. And three, we both know marrying me is bad luck and I’d rather you didn’t.”

Joe rolled his eyes. “Was it necessary to be this thorough about it?”

“Only the most thorough for you, my friend.”

“Good point and thanks. The problem remains, however. Who will marry me for only _borderline_ illegal student allowance purposes?”

“I’ll do it,” Nicky said.

There was a silence.

“Wait, really?” Joe asked.

Nicky shrugged and said, with much more bravado than he really felt – _what are you **doing** , Nicky, you don’t even **know** him, you don’t even know what he studies or where he lives or whether he’s secretly a serial killer, just a very sweet one_ – “Well, I don’t want to be counted in my parents’ household either, and I’m single. We can divorce once we graduate.”

Booker lifted his eyes towards the sky. “Romance is dead,” he said.

Andy laughed.

#

Nicky had assumed Joe lived in the same city as Andy and Booker – most of the really venerable universities were situated in it, and most of Andy’s social circle consisted of humanities scholars hailing from those venerable universities. Nicky was an outlier, even if Andy’s friends never made him feel like one.

Then Joe turned up in the train station.

It was still half an hour until the next train. Nicky had found an empty bench in the train station and thoroughly tied his brain into knots – what had he _done_ , offering marriage of convenience to a man he had only met twice – when he heard a painfully familiar voice ask: “Is this seat taken?”

“No, be my guest,” Nicky said automatically, because he had been Raised Right, which meant being polite sans any brain activity at all.

Joe sat. Nicky tried to not look at him. He wondered whether _not looking_ was more conspicuous than looking. He wondered whether it was too late to change his name and skip the country. It seemed like a reasonable solution.

“You can forget about it, you know,” Joe said, with a smile that did something terrible to Nicky’s stomach. “I’m not going to hold you to a spur-of-the-moment promise.”

Nicky shrugged. It was easy to be candid with someone he didn’t really know, so he said: “Like I said, I wouldn’t say no to the student allowance and I don’t want to be counted in my parents’ household. So.”

Joe looked at him. Then he said: “I am doing this all wrong. How do you take your coffee?”

“Black, no sugar,” Nicky said, bewildered.

Joe stood up and walked away. Nicky half-rose to call after him, then realized Joe’s bag was still on the bench by him. Joe proceeded no further than the tiny coffee kiosk by the station building, then returned with two cups, one of which he handed to Nicky.

“I cannot in good conscience talk to a man about marriage without buying him a coffee first,” he said.

Nicky laughed despite himself. He couldn’t but notice that Joe looked at it.

“So,” he said, to dodge the entirety of _that_ , “I go to the Tech. Will start my third year, informatics. I did an internship last semester but the company wasn’t hiring, so I guess it’s back to the coffee shops for a salary.”

“ _The_ Tech, eh?” Joe asked, amused.

“ _Are_ there any others?” Nicky asked back, affecting kind of nasal loftiness the most insufferable of his classmates defaulted to. There were other technical universities. Theirs was the largest and most famous.

Joe laughed. “Evidently not. I just graduated from the good old CU, Literature and modern languages. I’ll go to the Jacobsen Teachers’ Seminary this fall. I did have a side job back at CU, but it wasn’t going to be compatible with the Jacobsen timetable, so I’m hoping to get a stipend.”

“I think you’ll be a good teacher,” Nicky said.

“Thanks.” Joe observed him, then said: “If we went through with it, I probably wouldn’t tell my parents.”

“Me neither,” Nicky said.

“They’d absolutely insist on meeting you, and they’d like you on the basis of being married to me if nothing else. It seems cruel to… show up with you, knowing we’ll divorce after we graduate.” That last was a little like a question.

Was this a _date_? Were they discussing marriage on first date?

“Yeah,” Nicky said. For a moment he wondered whether he should bring it up bluntly, ask something about seeing other people while they were married or whatever. It would have been dishonest. He didn’t exactly have time for dating.

It was so easy to talk with Joe. He didn’t seem to mind that Nicky was a little awkward and quiet at the best of times, but he wasn’t one of those guys who only liked the sound of their own voice either. Nicky hadn’t liked anyone this much in – years, really.

He managed not to embarrass himself during the three hours of train ride. When they were one stop from the terminal station Joe asked: “Do you want my phone number?”

“Sure,” Nicky said and opened a new contact. Joe recited his number.

Nicky had almost dialed the number to give Joe his in return when Joe raised his hand, half-forbidding. “You don’t have to call me now,” he said mildly. “I do answer unknown numbers, you know.”

Was Nicky so visibly skittish? Or did Joe do it with everyone whom he gave his number, in this easy attempt to give them space?

“Thanks,” Nicky said.

“No problem.”

The terminal was crowded as always. They went in different directions. Nicky made it through twenty minutes of the metro and into his fifth-floor shoe box of an apartment he was renting until he could move back to the dorm in late August. Dorm renovations waited for no men. He dropped his bag on the floor and sank after it, his back against the front door. Took out his phone and thumbed into the mercilessly short list of contacts. Looked at “Joe”.

“made it home okay” he typed. Then added: “its nicky btw”

The reply came quickly. “glad to hear it :)”

“you?” Nicky typed.

“still on the tram, but will hopefully make it this year”

Nicky chuckled. In the silence of his apartment it was loud enough to startle himself.

He got up. There were always things to be, places to do, or perhaps the other way around.

#

“i think we have to put in our application soon if we want to marry before september” Nicky texted one evening about a week later.

“yeah” Joe answered, which was relatively laconic for him. He typed fast and used it for good purpose. “want to meet up about it?”

“sure. tho we can do electronic applications, they only want us in person for the actual marriage”

There was a little pause. Then: “yeah that also works”.

“unless this was about coffee again?”

“i could never say no to coffee <3”

“ok, my treat”

#

Joe said he knew a place in the Old Town and he really did. It was a small out-of-the-way café hidden in a narrow side street, absolutely unassuming from the street and with a beautiful courtyard in the back. Nicky never would have found it on his own. The coffee was much like the place: nothing special from the looks of it, but very well-made.

“This is wonderful,” Nicky said quietly when they were about halfway through their first cups.

Joe beamed. Nicky’s breath caught at it. “I hoped you’d think so,” Joe said.

“How did you find it?”

“To be honest? I stumbled and fell into a snowdrift in the next street. There was snow _in_ my coat. It seemed imprudent to go back home without warming up and this was the nearest warm place. A fortunate coincidence, if not my proudest one.”

Nicky smiled. “You’re not pulling my leg?”

“I would never,” Joe said. He looked into the distance. “I think I told you I’m from the Archipelago, right? Well, from that viewpoint the capital is _weird_. This place is no better planned than my hometown which at least has the excuse of never having had a city architect. But the capital is the size of at least two Cranetowns. You’d think there would be _some_ street grid, but there really isn’t.”

Nicky nodded.

“I got lost thrice in my first week,” Joe said. “Took the tram in the wrong direction, assumed the street would actually go where it looked like it was going, stuff like that. So I decided that I was going to study this place like a Modern Lit 101 homework. Took me a couple of semesters and a few encounters with snowdrifts, but I would get a passing grade by now.”

“Obviously,” Nicky said and made a little gesture to indicate the café around them. He took another sip of coffee, then said: “But it’s nice, isn’t it?”

“The capital?”

“Yes. It’s… a place that evolves. You get the centuries-old buildings here in Old Town and all the modern architecture near the Tech. They’ve never _removed_ a mode of public transport, so you get trains and trams and the metro and three kinds of buses.” He hesitated, then added: “I’m from a small town in the middle country. It has the same sense of history, but it just _stopped_ sometime in the last century.”

He didn’t usually talk about his home town. He wondered if Joe noticed his momentary discomfort. Probably. Joe noticed everything.

“I’ve never thought of it like that,” Joe said. “As if the city is its own history book.”

“I hadn’t either. My student society has alumni lectures and last year one of them was a city planner. I could probably find you a recording.”

“That would be nice,” Joe said, and then, smiling: “Your student society?”

Nicky shrugged. “Well, yes. I needed a hobby when I got here.”

For a moment he wondered whether Joe was one of those people who saw the student societies as an exclusive bunch of overachievers hobnobbing with those of their alumni who had made it. It wouldn’t have been an entirely false opinion: a certain type of gregarious overachiever was over-represented in all the societies he had visited. Then again, everyone who had even been a student could apply to join a society and in Nicky’s senior’s words, being accepted only really relied on not being an embarrassing dick and trying a little.

“I visited a few when I started at CU but never joined one,” Joe said. “Which one?”

“Want to guess?” Nicky said.

“You’re much too nice for either of the Fraternitases. Fraternitii? I have forgotten all my Latin. Andy and Booker are Graces alumni, which would be an easy recommendation, but they don’t really have a chapter here, so probably not. The Eveningstars and Noonhawks have a very specific _vibe_ , which you don’t have. The Archivers wouldn’t have recruited in The Tech...” The capital letters were audible. He trailed off. “Either the Ironbranches or the Flagbearers.”

“The latter,” Nicky said.

“Impressive,” Joe said.

“They’re not _that_ scary.”

“Only the oldest and best-known student society in the country. And the most impressive. The Chuck Norris of them, if you will.” He laughed at Nicky’s expression. “Okay, okay. Do you have other hobbies?”

“University choir. I missed singing a lot by my second semester. They were recruiting.”

“That sounds nice.”

“It is. You could come to a concert if you wanted.”

“I’ll keep it in mind.” Joe sipped his coffee and made a little grimace. “It’s gone cold.”

“I’ll go get –“

“No, no, what kind of a grad student would I become if I wasted _coffee_?” He valiantly downed it.

“Want another?”

“Not yet. I would shake out of my skin.” He hesitated a little. “So… are we doing it?”

“Yes,” Nicky said. “The Demographic Office isn’t too far from here. We could walk there.”

“Alright.”

#

Nicky had always vaguely expected that marriage would be something momentous.

It wasn’t. They filed their intention to marry in person, to a clerk who was all business and stamped their forms with the exact same crisp competence she had for everyone that passed by her counter. They waited the required three weeks, during which they went out for coffee twice.

Even the marriage procedure itself was… ordinary. The official gave a little speech about it being an important step worth consideration, which was a little unfortunate, but then they had actually considered it, so it wasn’t as embarrassing as it could have been. They affirmed that they were there voluntarily, knew what they were doing and consented to it. They signed their names. Buying rings would have been a foolish expenditure, so they hadn’t, which meant that part of the procedure was skipped.

“You may now kiss,” the official said, and, okay, this part of the procedure was perhaps _not_ ordinary. Going by the flicker of panic in Joe’s eyes he and Nicky were thinking the exact same thing: _shit, maybe we should have practiced that_.

Nicky stepped closer, clasped the back of Joe’s head and closed the distance between them and – fuck, they definitely should have practiced that, because Joe’s hair was _so soft_ and his lips _so warm_. Nicky should have been _prepared_.

Joe made a sound, so quiet that it probably wasn’t audible to anyone but Nicky. His eyes fell closed and his lips parted and, okay, this was definitely not a chaste procedural kiss any more, but Nicky was not going to complain.

The official cleared her throat delicately, and they sprang apart. There was blush across Joe’s cheeks.

“Good luck, kids,” the official said, which probably wasn’t in the official handbook for marriage procedure.

“Thank you, ma’am,” Nicky said and they fled with as much dignity as yet possible.

“Want to get lunch?” Joe asked when they were safely out of the Demographic Office. Nicky couldn’t but notice that he was still blushing a little.

“I don’t think we have time,” Nicky said. “I have a job interview in an hour.”

“Time enough for a burger,” Joe said lightly.

That was true. They went into the closest fast-food restaurant, got burgers and sat down on a bench between two street trees. It was a little before noon on a mid-August Friday. Still warm, but the sun was less forceful than it had been a month ago. People were streaming all around them: white-collar paper-pushers on lunch from nearby offices, teenagers enjoying their last weeks of freedom, grandparents shopping for school supplies with small kids excited about first grade, couriers on bikes. Nothing out of ordinary. Except now they were married.

Well, the marriage didn’t really feel as if it was of any importance. Everyone who had told a much smaller Nicky that it would change everything could suck it. He had married to get the student allowance and that was it.

The kiss, however, was an entirely different matter. Nicky wanted to try it again, and it terrified him.

“I’ll let you know how it goes,” he said after he’d finished his burger. His voice was a little unsteady still.

“I’ll be waiting,” his husband said.

#

“got the job” Nicky sent that evening.

“nice” Joe answered. “a coffeeshop?”

“yeah. fancier than average tho. think they liked my espresso skills”

“u had to make espresso as a part of the interview??”

“yes”

“wow”

“i know. the first time thats happened”

There was a lull in the conversation. Nicky stared at the phone. Imagined himself typing: “so about that kiss”.

He had no idea what to type after that though, and so he did not.

“want to go for one last coffee before the semester starts?” Joe asked while Nicky was still dithering. “i know youll be busy from september”

“id like that”

#

They didn’t discuss the kiss, though. Joe was still kind and charming and so sweet it shaded into terrifying, which meant he didn’t start the discussion. Nicky wasn’t sure how to start, which meant he didn’t do it either.

September inched closer. He moved back into the dorms and managed to snag a single room in a unit with other third-years. They were all on their way to graduation, which put a serious damper on clandestine late-night parties, exactly as Nicky preferred it. His job got busier by the day, because mid-August was the dead of the summer vacation season and September really wasn’t. His student society geared up for the fall semester. The already overburdened chairwoman asked whether he wanted to be on the recruiting committee. He said yes, of course.

No matter how busy he made himself, occasionally he still couldn’t fall asleep in the evening. Occasionally he wondered what his younger sisters were doing, back in his hometown. More often he remembered the softness of Joe’s lips and _ached_.

It would have been easy enough to roll over in the bed, get his phone from the floor and send a message. The one he hadn’t ever sent: “so about that kiss” maybe. But he couldn’t do it.

September arrived. The fifth-semester course load was famously something of a killer, which meant he didn’t have free time, which was usually the way he liked it. Except apparently he had finally found something he wanted more than to be busy out of his mind, and he was a complete failure at it.

“did you apply for the allowance” Joe sent one day.

“yeah. the results arent in yet tho”

“they should be next week”

They were, and they both got the allowance. All according to the plan.

Except that – except that Nicky couldn’t help but go through his budgeting app that evening. It was obvious enough that he didn’t really need it, with his new job. Not that it had been entirely unobvious before – he was able to do basic math – but it was always nice to be called out by technology.

He donated the entire sum to a charity and felt a little better.

Joe sent him a picture of a bowl of homemade soup with the caption “i have been finally delivered from the tyranny of instant noodles”.

“sweet” Nicky answered and wasn’t sure whether he meant the soup or the sender.

#

“andy says shes having an all souls party”

“next weekend?”

“yeah. its the midterms week too so we’ll all have homework hangover. def a good combo”

“sat or sun?”

“sat. why?”

“the uni choir has a thing sun morning. i could take the last train back i guess”

“thats enough sleep for choir athletics?”

“:D choir athletics :D :D but yes. should be.”

#

They didn’t take the same train to Andy’s, because Joe was the kind of person who arrived two hours early to help the host with cooking and Nicky on the other hand cut it as close as he could due to his unfortunate pile of homework.

He arrived late and didn’t even have pastries to redeem himself, but he had picked up two bottles of wine on the way. Andy hugged him, took the bottles, nodded approvingly. “Good choice. Come on, there’s still food if you’re quick.”

There was indeed still food. Someone had also brought kiddie champagne, presumably as a joke, but Nicky was becoming increasingly certain he had forgotten both lunch _and_ breakfast, so kiddie champagne was about the only thing he could have without getting tipsy from the first glass and proceeding downhill from there. He saluted the joker in his mind and got his glass (plastic, because Andy had less wine glasses than she had mugs).

The party was already in full swing, which was near the upper limit of his sociability on the best of days. He managed to chat with Andy about her new grad student – whip-smart and interested in art history, apparently – and caught up with Booker, but that was about as much as he could manage, especially pre-exhausted from the midterms as he was. He went to sit on the fire escape as a literal escape from the din.

Joe was already there, armed with a wine glass of his own. He raised it to Nicky. “Nice to see you made it.”

“Barely. The lecturer for Databases 301 is out for my blood.” He hesitated. “Did you want some peace and quiet?”

Joe shook his head. “It’s okay. Unless you mind.”

“It’s okay,” Nicky echoed and sat on the stairs by Joe.

It was a typical early November evening, the temperature near freezing. Their breath clouded against the golden spiderwebs of the street lighting ahead and downhill of them. Nicky’s knee brushed Joe’s and for a moment he wondered whether he should draw away. Joe didn’t, however, and so Nicky didn’t either. He drank his kiddie champagne and pretended he wasn’t half as aware of the touch as he really was.

“An entire lit degree and I still haven’t found a poem that feels like this,” Joe said quietly. He raised his glass to his lips. “Ah, well.”

There was a silence, filled only by the murmur of Andy’s party and the further-off sounds of the traffic. There wasn’t much of the latter. It was a Saturday evening in a city chock full of universities, but not so late yet that everyone else would be going home from a party.

Nicky wasn’t drunk at all, but something about the cold and the company made him almost as reckless. He put his glass down, closed his eyes and recited one of the few poems he did know by heart.

_“Above us, stars. Beneath us, constellations.  
Five billion miles away, a galaxy dies  
like a snowflake falling on water. Below us,  
some farmer, feeling the chill of that distant death,  
snaps on his yard light, drawing his sheds and barn  
back into the little system of his care.  
All night, the cities, like shimmering novas,  
tug with bright streets at lonely lights like his.”_

When he finished, Joe was looking at him with naked wonder in his eyes.

“Well,” Joe breathed. “That’s precise.”

“Is that so,” Nicky said, foolishly.

Joe stretched out his hand and brushed Nicky’s cheekbone, still with that wide-open wondrous wondering look in his eyes that Nicky was drawn to like a moth to the flame. Nicky couldn’t but sigh and lean into it. His eyes fell closed.

Joe bowed closer, but didn’t kiss him. Nicky felt the edge of Joe’s breath. Something like apples and no alcohol at all. Whatever it was in his glass, it wasn’t booze.

Joe’s hand on Nicky’s cheek trembled.

“What are you waiting for?” Nicky whispered.

“I –“ Joe said and broke off. “Do you want this? I don’t know if I’m reading you right sometimes.”

“I’m afraid,” Nicky said, because it was so easy to be honest, cold and alone in the dark with Joe. “Of myself, not of you. And I want it more than anything.”

Joe leaned in. It was not unlike their first kiss, intoxicating and gentle and so slow that Nicky couldn’t take it. He grasped Joe’s lapels, caught himself, almost froze – but Joe chuckled quietly and slid the hand that had been on Nicky’s cheek onto his nape.

“I’m not afraid of you,” he whispered against Nicky’s lips. “Unless you’re secretly a very handsome serial killer?”

“Not that,” Nicky said. “I’m...” he trailed off. Didn’t know where to even start, only fairly certain he couldn’t spill it all out on a fire escape during Andy’s party. “I’m sorry. You must think I’m a mess.”

“Who among us isn’t?”

“You, apparently.”

“I’m flattered.” Nicky felt Joe’s smile against his mouth. “But I have developed feelings for my husband in a marriage of convenience. Is that not the definition of mess?”

“Pot, kettle.” He exhaled, rested his forehead against Joe’s.

“You said you had a choir thing tomorrow,”Joe said after a little while. “May I come?”

“Yes. It’s in the Nicholas Hall. The real concert is in the evening, at five pm, but that’s stupid expensive. The full rehearsal is at eleven in the morning and there are no tickets. And, yes, I am aware of the coincidence in names. Puns have been made.”

“I had no such intention,” Joe said solemnly.

#

“that was amazing”

“thanks”

“i mean it. i didnt really expect 2h of medieval? chorals? sorry, i know absolutely nothing about older music and forgot to get the program sheet, but, well, damn”

“youre making me blush joe”

“all according to the plan”

#

On his own Nicky could have probably dithered until the end of time or until Joe requested a divorce, whichever came first. Fortunately the universe had other intentions.

It was the Wednesday of the fourteenth week of the semester, which meant that the lecturers were really out for their blood now. He had stayed late in the library, trying to get his part of their Advanced Algorithms group project done, and when he staggered home in the blank darkness of a December evening, he discovered that the entire dorm was cordoned off.

“What is going on?” he asked the nearest person who looked like she might know something. He had seen her around dorm admin offices, probably. Right now she was sitting on a collapsible chair in front of the main entrance, armed with a tablet, a cigarette and bone-deep exhaustion.

“Heating’s fucked,” she said, bluntly. “Some first-years thought they smelled something weird in their unit, and well, it wasn’t any of the usual reasons. We can’t let anyone in until the emergency maintenance guys have confirmed it’s safe.”

“I see,” he said, and then: “Er. How long will that take?”

“At least until tomorrow. Sorry.” She looked at him. “The other dorm buildings relaxed their guest rules, so you can crash with friends and no one will try to write you up. And the university set up temporary accommodation in the sports building, but as you may be aware, it’s the _sports building_.”

Which meant it was cool, echoing and far from an optimal place to sleep. “I’ll see if I can spend the night somewhere else,” Nicky said slowly.

“I don’t blame you.”

“Sorry about the heating.”

“Thanks. Not your fault, though.” She looked into the middle distance and said, with dreamy and chilling relish: “We’re going to fucking _eat_ the usual maintenance company, I think.”

Nicky left her with her plans of retaliatory cannibalism and walked to the metro stop. He could go to the Flagbearers’ building – staying overnight in there wasn’t exactly encouraged, but neither was it forbidden. Or…

“theres a problem” he texted.

“:( what is it”

“my dorm is apparently off limits until tomorrow. heating emergency. only found out now, sorry. could i stay overnight with you?”

“of course!”

Joe sent him the directions. His place was in one of the older districts – not the Old Town itself, but the south-eastern collage of tiny wooden buildings and especially twisting streets. It was probably much more charming in daylight. Right now it mostly felt like a labyrinth.

“I should have come to the tram stop,” Joe said, once Nicky had found his place.

“It’s okay. I’m already imposing.” He lifted a paper bag. “I’m afraid it was too late to get any proper guest gifts, but the evening sale was already on in the terminal station café, so I brought bread.”

“Thank you,” Joe said, with a genuine smile. “And no, you’re not imposing. Come on, don’t linger in the hall, you’ll definitely catch a cold. Have you eaten dinner yet?”

Nicky shook his head and followed Joe from the hall to the main room of the apartment. It wasn’t much bigger than the shoe box Nicky had rented during summer, but it was, well, nicer. Less impersonal. There were actual curtains instead of utilitarian blinds, a soft-looking knitted blanket on the sofa and framed calligraphy on the walls. The desk under one of the windows probably came from a flea shop, not Ikea.

It looked like a home.

“Perfect,” Joe said, for once unaware of Nicky’s shock. “I had just started and there’s enough for two.”

Dinner was, apparently, vegetable stew with couscous. Nicky was going to have to add “terrific cook” to his mental list of Joe’s good qualities. Joe tried to deflect the compliment with the fact that the recipe was really nothing special, Nicky insisted that this only made the food better and somehow the compliment war ended up escalating until Joe was wiping tears of laughter from his eyes.

“I have a lecture at ten tomorrow,” he said. “What about you?”

“Eight, I’m afraid. I’ll be quiet in the morning.”

“I may not wake up fast, but I am a morning person. Possibly the worst combination, I know. So I’ll be up anyway.”

Nicky nodded and then said: “I’ll take the floor.”

“Absolutely not,” Joe said. “You’re my _guest_.”

“Which is why I cannot throw my host out of his own bed.”

“And I cannot not offer you the bed.”

“You did offer.”

“My mother would telepathically know that I let my guest sleep on the floor and be here by tomorrow noon to give me a lecture. I cannot risk it.”

Nicky exhaled. “Okay. How wide is your bed?” It looked relatively tiny when in the sofa position, but that wouldn’t have been the first deceptive sofa-bed of his acquaintance.

“A three-quarter,” Joe said.

“We should both fit.” He looked up from assessing the sofa-bed to realize that Joe was looking at him, his mouth a little open. “If that’s alright, I mean.”

“Yes,” Joe said. “Of course it is.” He drew his fingers through his hair. “I’ll wrangle it and you take the bathroom. Clean towels are in the cupboard by the sink.”

#

Nicky had gravely miscalculated yet again.

He was sitting on Joe’s bed, on sheets that smelled of Joe’s laundry detergent, _in_ an old T-shirt that belonged to Joe, having just showered with Joe’s shampoo and soap, listening to Joe sing under his breath in the shower. Joe was either unconcerned about hot water running out or had ruthlessly rationed it from the beginning, the same as Nicky. The apartment was so small that it would have been difficult not to hear that last one. He had a nice voice, even if Nicky couldn’t recognize the songs. This was – it was absolutely impossible to not think of Joe in a situation like this.

Joe came out of the bathroom in pyjamas. This might have short-circuited Nicky’s brain, but the pyjamas in question were patterned with teddy bears and the overall effect was more adorable than devastatingly hot. Fortunately. Joe checked the locks and came to bed. “Which side do you want?” he asked.

“Not the wall.” Too easy to feel boxed in.

“Okay,” Joe said and that should have been that.

Nicky was afflicted with a tendency to be honest when he was alone in the dark with someone. He listened to Joe’s breathing for an interminable while – relaxed, but not asleep – and then he turned to his side and asked: “What did your parents say when you came out?”

“Nothing much. I think the exact quote was ‘okay’ from my father and ‘well, I’ll be waiting for a nice son-in-law then’ from my mother.” There was a faint sound from his pillow. He must have turned his head to look at Nicky, or at least in Nicky’s direction. It was full dark in his apartment. “Yours were less pleasant, weren’t they?”

“Am I that transparent?” Nicky whispered.

Joe hummed. “Almost the opposite. You’re opaque about everything before you came to the Tech. That usually means something unpleasant.”

Nicky exhaled and said: “My father is the mayor in that small town I’m from. And that place fits every stereotype there is about the middle country. Narrow-minded fanatic assholes.”

Joe was very quiet.

“My mother cried. I didn’t wait to find out what my father’s reaction would have been. I packed my stuff and was gone before he got home.”

“Where to?”

“Andy, actually. My aunt knew her from university and I had met her once before. She was remarkably nonplussed. Andy, that is. I don’t know about my aunt.”

“I’m sorry,” Joe said. Nicky wondered whether he heard the rest of it that Nicky hadn’t said, the frank and a little pathetic _I lost everything and I don’t know whether I’ve gotten over it_.

“Thank you,” Nicky said.

Joe was quiet for a while, but there was a tenseness to silence, so he probably hadn’t fallen asleep. In the end he asked: “Was marrying me a bit of revenge?”

Nicky exhaled. “I would lie if I’d say it wasn’t, in the beginning. Plus, I did think I needed the allowance. But I haven’t thought of revenge in months now.”

“Fair,” Joe said. The silence was a little less tense. Then he innocently went for the jugular, asking: “Back at Andy’s All Souls party you said you were afraid of yourself. Why? Is it a sort of lingering internalized homophobia or…”

Nicky laughed without mirth. “I wish. No, it’s” – more _complicated_ – “it’s a bit worse than that.” He inhaled, was struck by the fear that this was the one thing Joe could not take in stride, decided to forge ahead anyway. Divorce was always an option, after all. “I was a fucking _bully_ as a teenager. My father was the mayor, my mother was one of the nice church ladies, my friends were all from similar families. We were the golden children, and we made it very certain everyone knew.”

“Did you hurt anyone?” Joe asked. It was surprisingly hard to read his voice right then.

“Did we put anyone in the hospital? No. Did we make a bunch of other kids miserable? Yes. Very much so.” He turned away, stared at the ceiling. “I bullied people for seeming _kind_ of gay even while I was already pretty sure I _was_ gay. That’s the kind of person I was. Should I… do I deserve to be in love with anyone after that? Especially someone as thoroughly nice as you? I don’t think so.”

Again that tense silence. Nicky half-expected to kicked out of the bed and the apartment right away.

“What have you done since?” Joe asked.

“What every gay ex-bully would do. Regularly donated to a charity, felt terrible and never apologized. I don’t know whether I could go back, even for that.”

Joe exhaled. “Well. I’m not going to forgive you.” Nicky’s heart skipped a beat, entirely predictably. Joe continued, however. “It’s between you and them. It isn’t something I could forgive. But you do deserve to be in love. What you were back then isn’t who you are now. I don’t think you’re going to be that kind of asshole nowadays.”

“Probably not,” Nicky said, his voice a ghost of itself. “But I’m never… I’ll always be someone who used to be that kind of asshole.”

“You cannot do anything to erase it. All that matters to me, personally, is what you do now.”

There was something like a light between Nicky’s ribs. A much younger and more religious Nicky would have called it _grace_. Current Nicky was tempted to call it something he didn’t deserve, but that seemed rather ungrateful.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

“You’re welcome.”

#

Waking up in a pitch-black December morning was still an ordeal. For a moment Nicky was bewildered – this was neither his bed nor his dorm room, then he looked to his left, to where Joe had pulled the blankets over his head against his own alarm clock. _Ah_.

He got up, made coffee and had started with the sandwiches by the time Joe emerged from under the blankets. Joe wasn’t apparently conscious yet, but he did react to the coffee mug and seemed a little more awake after the sandwich.

“When do you have to leave?” he asked, his voice still a little scratchy from sleep.

“In about twenty minutes.” He was going to throw himself to the tender mercies of the tram rush hour, however that looked like, and then the metro rush hour, which he was unfortunately familiar with. “I’ll, uh. I’ll launder your T-shirt and then return it.” He was wearing the previous day’s clothes, but he _had_ slept in Joe’s shirt.

“Leave it,” Joe said. “I’m going to do laundry today anyway.” He got up, shuffled to the coffee machine and poured himself another half-mug. “So,” he said. “About yesterday evening.”

Nicky froze.

“No, not that. You… asked whether you deserved to be in love with anyone. Was it theoretical?”

Nicky looked into his own empty coffee cup and shook his head. “It wasn’t.” He heard Joe put down his mug and step closer, then Joe’s fingers were in Nicky’s hair, unutterably gentle. He looked up, into Joe’s eyes and allowed himself to sigh.

“May I kiss you?” Joe said.

“Please,” Nicky said and stood up.

It started gentle. Nicky was beginning to suspect that Joe never started a kiss ungently. But one of his hands was still in Nicky’s hair and then he pulled a little, just enough for it to be be perceptible. Nicky made what was probably an embarrassing sound, turned them a little, so Joe’s back was towards the wall, crowded closer until Joe’s back was actually against the wall. Joe laughed at the back of his throat, delighted. His other hand moved down Nicky’s back, stopped just above the waistband of his jeans and Nicky’s breath caught.

“Do you want to go back to bed?” he asked.

“Terribly,” Joe said. “But I may have dreamed about this and a quickie before a full day of lectures wasn’t what I had in mind.” The way he said _quickie_ was frankly mesmerizing.

“Well,” Nicky breathed. “I wouldn’t dare to go against your dreams.”

“When do you have a free evening?”

Nicky scanned through his mental calendar. It helped with his arousal. Multitasking. “Friday, actually. After five.”

“Come over, then. I’ll show you my actually special recipes, and _that_ isn’t a metaphor.” Then he winked. Nicky couldn’t help but laugh.

#

The actually special recipe was a beef stew. Nicky had to admit that it really was tastier than the previous vegetable dish. Joe beamed at that. Apparently it was one of his mother’s semi-secret recipes.

Nicky had brought baklava for dessert, since it kind of seemed appropriate. Joe made tea and for a while they sat at his kitchen table, recovering from the dinner.

“Do you have work tomorrow?” Joe asked.

“Evening shift from two in the afternoon. I don’t have to be anywhere before that.” He looked at Joe through the last wisp of steam from his tea. “Are you asking whether I can stay overnight?”

“Just in case. You are a very busy man. There may be choir athletics sneaking up.”

Nicky threw his head back and laughed, because _choir athletics_ was still as funny as it had been the first time. He couldn’t but notice how Joe’s gaze fixed on his throat, and that was, well.

“I am never too busy for you,” he said.

Joe’s eyes darkened a little. “Thank you,” he said.

Nicky put down his mug, stepped around the table, went down on one knee and was rewarded with Joe’s eyes darkening another shade. Nicky slid his fingers down Joe’s cheek. Joe’s eyes fell closed.

“Do you want to go to bed?” Nicky asked.

“ _Yes_ ,” Joe sighed.

“Let’s go, then.”

#

“I think that means divorce is out of consideration for the near future,” Nicky said afterwards.

“From my side, definitely.” Joe sighed lazily and rested his head on Nicky’s shoulder. “I’m going to see my family after the winter exams. Would you like to come with me? You don’t have to answer now.”

“As your boyfriend?”

“I think we’re more official than that.”

Nicky laughed. “Are you going to tell them the true story? That you married me for the student allowance and then fell in love with me?”

“My mother would find it hilarious, so possibly.” He kissed the spot between Nicky’s collarbones that was still a little sensitive. It was going to be a mark, in all likelitude. “But my sisters would never let me live it down, so I’m not a hundred percent sure. Then again, Andy and Booker are also not going to let us live it down and what’s a little additional mockery from my family?”

Nicky hummed and stretched. Meeting his – his in-laws. More than a little terrifying, but Joe had once said they would like him on the basis of being married to Joe, if nothing else. “Okay,” he said. “I think I’d like that.”

**Author's Note:**

> The poem Nicky quotes is ["Flying At Night"](https://www.poemhunter.com/poem/flying-at-night/) by Ted Kooser.


End file.
